


Laptops

by someoneplsloverobbierotten



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, M/M, alludes to sex, also Stanley is a cat person and loves kittens, and fidds is a kinky lil shit and a firecraker in bed, basically just general nsfw stuff, fight me, mentions of porn, nothing graphic though, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someoneplsloverobbierotten/pseuds/someoneplsloverobbierotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So basically I saw a fic for this prompt:<br/>"I wish you would write a fic where character A and character B both have the same model of laptop and they accidentally switch at a lecture and/or coffee shop and character A is like 'bruh that's a really impressive porn collection but I kind of need my research paper rough draft back thanks' and character B is like 'I like all the cat pictures on your hard drive but also I need the file I was working on for my graphic design class"<br/>and had to have a go of my own, but with Fidds and Stanley.</p><p>(I also really wanted to make Stan person A and Fidd person B since I like the idea of Fidds being a secret lil minx)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laptops

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 2am so please be gentle!  
> No beta. (Tenses are all over the place sorry!) Also, first attempt at writing for this fandom.  
> Don't own the show, the characters, or even the prompt: which was found and featured in this fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635645
> 
> Also! I would like to dedicate this fic to the wonderful http://jamiekinosian.tumblr.com who drew this gorgeous and adorable piece of art in response to an ask I sent: http://jamiekinosian.tumblr.com/post/127430130517/ (I had to repay you!)

Stanley Pines wasn’t actually anywhere near as dumb about computers as the kids believed - as he’d had them believe. Working on the portal had given him the need for a necessary “crash-course” on technology, and with that; computers. And of course, he’d kept up-to-date. Any new information was bound to help him in the long run, so he made sure to have the latest laptop ready and waiting down in the basement. (Another thing he owed to the shack and its massive profits). In all honesty, getting a laptop was one of the bet decisions of Stan’s life. It was easy to hide, made research incredibly easy, and he could put passwords and stuff on it so that even if the kids (or anyone else for that matter,)  _did_ find it, they wouldn’t be able to _use_ it. Plus, Internet shopping was a beautiful, wonderful thing, and an up-to-date browser always helped.

The laptop stayed hidden at all times, either down in the basement, or safe under his bed, because the kids never went in his room. And he was certain that it was hidden, that it was safe.

Until Fiddleford came to the shack.

Fiddleford was a face that Stan would quite happily never see again. A face that all at once was too familiar and yet a complete stranger - which was ironic, because up until a few weeks ago, that was how Fiddleford had felt about _him_. Now, however, there was a glint of recognition in the old kook’s eyes that made Stan uncomfortable, and that look apparently ran in conjunction with the crazy inventor getting his memories back - which was the last thing Stan needed right now, what with the portal and all - and, according to the twins, apparently warranted McGucket living with them.

 _That_ particular discussion had involved a lot of arguing, yelling, and just straight out refusal, until Mabel had dragged him into the office and had lashed him out with a fury that he’d never seen before. It scared him a little if he was honest. She had made a lot of good points. A lot of scarily accurate points, and a lot of points that hit closer to home than they should have. In the end they’d left the office and gone to their respective rooms for the night, Mabel dragging a concerned looking Dipper behind her.

The next morning, he’d announced that McGucket could stay.

Mabel had nodded at him with a level of maturity that she really shouldn’t have before cheering and yelling excitedly in unison with her twin. If he hadn’t’ve seen it, he might not have believed it.

Fiddleford moved into the shack within the week, which meant that now Stan spent a large portion of his day trying not to sit or stand on whatever doodads the whacked-out inventor had spread around the shack. Since Stan had flat out refused any of McGucket’s crap moving in with him, Mabel (and, slightly more begrudgingly, Dipper,) had made it her life’s mission to provide Fiddleford with everything he needed or might ever possibly need in the future.

Fiddleford needs clothes? Four shopping trips later (mostly to charity shops and yarn stores), Fiddleford gets clothes.

Fiddleford needs tools to build whatever hoojimawhatsit he’s building? Fiddleford gets tools.

Fiddleford accidentally mentions something random and weird? Well it might not actually exist but Mabel Pines is determined that in a very short time not only _will_ it exist, but Fiddleford Hadron McGucket will be in possession of it.

Which is why, when Fiddleford mentioned his need of a laptop - since for some reason he’d given his only one to Dipper, which Stan isn’t really comfortable with Dipper having just in case it has anything from the old days on it, though from the looks of it that old pile of crap ain’t gonna be lasting too long anyway - Mabel is down at the electronics store within minutes, purchasing that latest model with the latest upgrades and latest software.

The latest model, which turns out to be exactly the same as his.

Make, model, software - hell, she even managed to get the same damn _colour._

And because Mabel is so very very quick about fulfilling Fiddleford’s every wish and whim and desire, he doesn’t find out about McGucket’s new laptop until he sees it on the kitchen table and his heart does a triple backflip straight off of the Grand Canyon.

He shoves the laptop up the front of his shirt before he can even inhale fully in panic, then checks wildly around the room to make sure he’s alone. He is, thank God, so he sprints up to his room and shoves the laptop under his bed where it belongs, before proceeding to have one of the biggest freak outs of his entire life. After a few minutes, he calms, shaky breaths finally evening out as he sits down on his bed. Jesus, he hasn’t had a panic attack like that since high school. He wraps his hands around his knees, running every possible scenario of how those kids could’ve gotten a hold of it. In the end, he comforts himself with the fact that even if he can’t figure out how they got it, he’s sure they haven’t found anything on it, because naturally inquisitive troublemakers like those two? They certainly wouldn’t’ve left it unattended and out in the open if they had.

That though calms him down enough to get off the bed and settle down for the night, but not enough to sleep.

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s to the sound of birds and the overwhelming panic of ‘maybe they did find something oh god maybe they did’. He grabs the laptop from under the bed and turns it on. Just to make sure.

There’s no password needed. Anything important is hidden from view and heavily protected, just surface stuff is accessible at first; useless decoy files full of crap he likes, y'know, normal laptop stuff. A password indicates something to hide anyway. Once the laptop turns on, it just goes straight to the wallpaper. 

That's when his heart _stops._

The wallpaper isn’t a picture of him and the kids as it should be. Instead, it’s one of the default pictures that comes pre-installed. A glacier.

Stan panics. Oh God, this isn't his laptop, it can't be. The kids may be snoopers, but if they found his laptop they wouldn’t change anything - they would try their damnedest not to change anything, leave no trace they’d been on there whatsoever. So if it isn’t _his_ laptop, whose is it?

He clicks on one of the available folders at random, and promptly chokes on his own tongue.

What he’s greeted with, is the biggest collection of porn he has ever seen.

And he's seen a _lot_.

(Come on, you seriously expect a dirty old guy like him not to have found out about the world wide web’s porn stash by now?)

Seriously though, this is ridiculous; kilobyte after kilobyte of porn, impeccably organised, tagged and labelled. And it _needs_ to be organised as well, there’s so much of it. And it ain’t all the same either, whoever this guy is, he has eclectic tastes that’s for sure - none of this ‘just plain old vanilla’ crap. His kinks are literally labelled; tagged in whatever videos contain what. Even the... participants are all different. There’s an equal mix of guys and girls here, in all different combinations and numbers and positions.

It is, simultaneously, one of the best and worst things Stan has ever seen.

After the shock wears off - which takes a good few minutes - he scrolls through the cache, completely forgetting the original purpose he had for checking out the folder, or even the computer itself. Gone are the worries about the kids (thank god) or if his files, his _goals_ , have been compromised, now he just wants - no, _needs_ to see how far this goes.

Pretty fucking far, it turns out.

Luckily for him though, it doesn’t go far enough that it makes him severely uncomfortable. Granted, there’s some stuff that he’s not really into, and even a few things he hasn’t heard of, but nothing he’s seen so far makes him want to burn the laptop and his brain and then cry in the shower for eighteen days.

It hits him, as he nears the end of this pornographic trek - and it has been a _trek_ \- that most of this stuff is actually well within his purview.

Suspiciously within his purview. And strangely familiar.

There are three people in this shack who this laptop could belong to, and he doubts that it belongs to Wendy or Soos. Not only does he seriously doubt that they’d just leave their laptop around where it could be easily accessible to the kids, especially with this kind of content, and without a password or anything, he hasn’t seen _either_ of them with a laptop before - certainly not this one.

Which only left one other option.

Stan laughs until he cries. Fiddleford. Of fucking course it’s Fiddleford. No one would organise their porn so meticulously, especially not like this. This particular method of organisation has Fiddleford written aaaaall over it. Not to mention the content, yeesh. People had always assumed that Stan was the one with the dirty mind - which, yeah, okay, his mind was pretty filthy - but goddamn, Fiddleford blew everyone out of the fucking water.

Literally.

Of course, it was easy to see how this was missed by nearly every single member of the population. In public, Fiddleford was always polite and well mannered, and never spoke out of turn. In fact, he rarely spoke at all, due to a bit of a nervous stammer. He was very private about his personal life, and never said anything untoward. Plus - and this was the real clincher, he blushed at literally anything. Seriously, even a fucking _falling leaf_ could make the man go redder than a tomato.

Fiddleford was the picture of pure innocence, in every sense of the word.

But of course, Stan and his brother had had the pleasure of working with Fiddleford for years, and the real truth was that behind closed doors, Fiddleford couldn’t have been more different.

Of course, he was still kind and polite and organised, but aside from being more generally talkative and open due to not having to deal with his anxiety, Fiddleford actually had an incredibly sharp wit and an amazing brand of dry, sarcastic humour that very rarely breached the confines of their little threesome and made it into the outside world, if at all. If it did, it either went straight over people’s heads or they were just simply unappreciative. He was also a lot more vocally outgoing; he wasn’t afraid to talk back, or argue, or flat out tell you that you were being a fucking moron.

Most surprisingly though, Fiddleford had a mind of _sin_. When the three of them began working together, it became more apparent, but Stan had never truly realised the extent of it until it was just him and Fiddleford alone. The blushing was still there, of course, that was just pure Fiddleford, but now he was giving _reasons_ for it. Half the time _Stan_ was the one turning red at the things Fiddleford would come out with. Stan was quite a knowledgeable guy by the time he met Fiddleford, he’d heard and seen quite a bit, but _God_. Some of the stuff Fiddleford knew, that Fiddleford told him, Stan had never even dreamed of.

Quite a lot of it was now sitting in a laptop folder in front of him.

Stan ran his hand over his face, still laughing. God. What a morning.

For now though, he slid the laptop under the bed and stood, his back and knees cracking as he went. He decided to go about his morning routine as usual before he made any move to give Fiddleford the laptop back. (Though, admittedly, with a slightly longer shower than usual. Hey, what could he say? Spending two hours looking at porn - that just happens to be right up your street - will do that to a guy, no matter how old and creaky.) 

After he’d dressed, he took the laptop out from under the bed and went downstairs. As suspected, Fiddleford was already up and dressed, and was sat at the kitchen table with one of his little doohickeys, a screwdriver, and a steaming cup of coffee - the making of which, was a skill apparently akin to riding a bike. From the doorway, Stan could see that there was still some in the pot. Good. Fiddleford made great coffee, always had, and he couldn’t be bothered brewing a new pot. Speaking of Fiddleford, Stan suspected that Mabel had made just as many clothes as she’d bought for him, because although the pants he was wearing were obviously store-bought, his sweater was a clear Mabel Special. It was a sweater vest; different from Mabel’s usual yarn ventures, but both her and Fidds had agreed that that was what suited him best, this particular sweater, however, had bright green binary code knitted into it, so Mabel obviously hadn’t let this new development put a damper on her style.

He’d made sure to step on all the creaky steps on the way down the stairs in order to give McGucket some forewarning, and didn’t quiet his footfalls as he made his way into the kitchen, the laptop carefully hidden behind his back. As a result, instead of startling, McGucket simply glanced up when he walked in before going back to his work. He did spare a polite “Mornin’ Stanley,” though, to which Stan grunted “Mornin,” back whilst pouring his coffee.

After a few sips, he brought the laptop out from behind his back and held it out to Fiddleford. Fiddleford’s eyes widened and the screwdriver loosened in his hands. “I, ah, thank you Stanley,” he said, taking the laptop, “I reckon I must’ve left it lying around.” He gave a nervous chuckle, and tucked the laptop under his arm.

Stanley hummed in agreement. “Well, just make sure you don’t keep leaving it around, especially not with _that_ kind of content,” he grinned down lecherously at McGucket, who went bright red in the face, “there are kids around here ya know.”

“I- I know.” McGucket looked down in embarrassment, and perhaps shame.

“Don’t worry yerself Fiddlesticks, I got to it before they did.” If possible, McGucket went even redder.

“I’ll- I should put a password on this,” he stammered, opening the laptop.

Stanley leaned up against the counter, “yeah, Fidds, you do that,” he chuckled, taking a sip of coffee.

Suddenly, Fiddleford frowned. “This ain’t my laptop!”

Stan spat out the coffee he’d been drinking and rushed to the table, just as Fiddleford spun the laptop towards him. On the screen there was a video of a small ginger kitten chasing a video of laser light. “This laptop is full of cat videos!” Fiddleford exclaimed with glee, amusement written all over his face. “This is _your_ laptop Stanley!”

“Wha- no! No that ain’t mine, I don’t even have a laptop- er computer thing like that!” Stan held his hands out in front of him, trying to halt all accusations of the laptop belonging to him. “It must be Mabel’s, she _loves_ all that cute fluffy crap!”

Fiddleford wasn’t having any of it though. “Nonsense Stanley!” He laughed, “of course this is yours, the kids don’t have laptops, and you _love_ cats!”

“No I don’t, I hate cats! Monsters, vermin, the lot of them! They scratch you furniture, throw up in your shoes, leave dead mice on your pillows, what’s _not_ to hate!” He threw his hands up in the air.

Fiddleford frowned at him playfully and shook his finger at him, “now don’t you lie to me Stanley,” he put his hands on his hips, “you know as well as I do that that big tough Stan Pines has a soft spot for lil’ kitties.”

“I don’t-“

“How many times did you hold up our little forest adventures because you found a cat that you just had to stop and pet? How many times did you come home holding some bedraggled ball of fur, begging us to let you keep it? How many?”

“It wasn’t _that_ -“

“It _was_ Stanley. Especially after that first one.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that Mittens was a _great_ bedtime companion.”

“Yeah, but I was better,” Fiddleford snarked, then clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he realised what he’d said and Stan’s jaw dropped to the floor.

The two of them were silent for a few seconds, eyes wide, before Stan burst out laughing. Fiddleford - now a lovely beet red - slumped in his seat and buried his head in his hands, whilst Stan had to put a hand on the counter to steady himself.

“Oh my- Oh my _god_ Fidds!” Stan could barely breathe he was laughing so hard, "and people call _me_ a dirty old man!" He broke out in to laughter again.

“Yeah! W- well, they ain’t exactly _wrong_!” Fiddleford huffed.

“Ah, true, true,” he conceded, thumbing behind his glasses to wipe the tears from eyes. “But you’re worse,” he grinned, “much, much worse.”

Fiddleford groaned and lowered his head back into his hand for a few seconds. “Shut up.”

“So much worse.”

“You shut your yap Stanley Pines.” Fiddleford muttered.

“Heh, I’m just messin with ya,” he clapped Fiddleford on the back. “Though I gotta admit, that’s quite the extensive collection you got there. I’m impressed.” He grinned again. Yeesh, his jaw was beginning to hurt with all this grinning. “Though I think you might wanna get on that password pretty soon. Ya know, just in case.”

Fiddleford sighed, and stared twiddling his thumbs. “Yeah, I mean, I should’ve put one on straight away - especially with _that_ content... but I didn’t want to forget it.”

Stan shrugged. “Just put your name; ‘Fiddleford’, you can’t forget that, and it’s so simple that the kids won’t think to guess it.”

Fiddleford tilted his head a little considering it. “I guess so. Where _are_ the kids anyway?”

Stan took another sip from his mug as he shrugged. “Eh. I usually let ‘em sleep in on Sundays, they should be up soon though.”

“You’d better take your laptop back then, don’t want them finding out your dark kitten loving secrets.” Fiddleford smiled conspiratorially at him, then winked, and Stan found himself grinning again. For a moment, it was just like old times. Maybe it could continue to be.

Stan drained his mug and put it next to the empty coffee pot, shaking his head, “Mabel would never let it go. She’d be buying cat toys within the week.”

“True. And I wouldn’t exactly stop her.”

“That’s because you’re a shit.” Stan reached over and picked up the laptop. “Put some more coffee on would ya, Fidds? I’ll go put this back where it belongs. I’ll grab yours whilst I’m at it.”

“ _Do_ make sure it’s actually mine this time Stanley.” Fiddleford remarked dryly as Stan headed out the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused, thankful he was already halfway up the stairs so that Fidds couldn’t see him grinning again.


End file.
